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From: david@f-e-mail.com (David Shaw)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 6 Aug 2003 11:54:30 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} "DRAGONSWEAT: THIRD SCROLL" (Myth) By David Shaw
Date: Wed,  6 Aug 2003 15:10:04 -0400
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"DRAGONSWEAT: THIRD SCROLL" (Myth)

By

David Shaw
david@f-e-mail.com

THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY

Not all the guards had been left behind in the barn. Two were at the
far side of the drawbridge, gaping up at Josephine and the intriguing
shape of the naked woman holding onto the dragon's claw. The view of
the witch's buttocks was well worth squinting into the setting sun to
see. The sort of scenery guaranteed to make a man feel that the Gods
were feasting and all was right with the world. The guards were
completely distracted -- not to mention dumbfounded. So Hal had a few
precious seconds to give orders to Caelia and Chelinde before they
were noticed: "Run up close to the one on the left and push him into
the moat, and then both of you run inside the castle."

The girls had to work as a team, only the two of them together had a
chance of sending a fully grown man toppling over the edge of the
drawbridge. But that left Hal to deal with the other sentry, and bare
handed at that -- well, bare everything. All he could do was to pick
up a couple of large stones from the side of the road and then dash
onto the drawbridge behind the sisters. Who got about halfway across
before they were noticed. Noticed by one of the two soldiers, anyway.
Hal could see the totally incredulous look on the guard's face as he
lowered his eyes from Morgana's sunlight uplands to find himself even
further into a world gone mad -- not enough to have bare arsed witches
on broken broomsticks being towed around by dragons, now he was being
charged by two naked girls, a boy as lean-ribbed as a skinned rabbit
and . . . a goblin. A goblin proudly displaying a prick so long and
loose that it was in danger of picking up splinters from the
drawbridge planks underfoot.

Fortunately the King's Guardsmen had been taught how to deal with this
sort of situation. It was the way they'd been taught to deal with
every situation that came up on sentry duty:  the soldier presented
his spear and shouted: "Halt! Who goes there? Friend or foe?"

Which, Hal thought briefly, was a fucking silly question: who was
going to yell back 'Foe'? So he shouted "Friends."

It had been the soldier on the right side of the drawbridge who had
challenged: the one on the left was still half lost in dreams of tying
Morgana's stripped body to a stake and then lighting her fire. A
disturbed state of mind stirred up even further by the onrushing
approach of a double pair of well developed young breasts swinging and
swaying towards him with nothing covering them except a scattering of
freckles. The soldier should have prepared himself to fight; he would
have, except that most men want to be friends with every pair of self
supporting tits they meet, especially uncovered ones. And the guard
paid the usual male price for his weakness as Chelinde and Caelia
rammed their opened hands against his chest and dropped him into the
shit.

The teat fancier staggered back completely off balance, swayed on the
edge of the drawbridge, and then fell off it into the shallow edge of
the moat. Shallow or deep, it smelt no better, but at least he was
lucky enough to be able to wade ashore by the castle wall. Not that
anybody cared about him anyway. It was his comrade, the one with the
leveled spear, who was the problem now. He made a lunge at the girls
but they were already past him, so he aimed his next thrust at Hal
instead.

Hal skipped back and hurled his stone as hard as he could at the
sentry's head. It wasn't a very effective blow as the stone hit the
man's helmet on the side and glanced off without having any apparent
effect on him. In retaliation the soldier jabbed at Hal with the clear
intention of spitting the boy like a suckling pig ready for roasting.
The only thing which saved his young life was that the sisters came
back at the sentry from one side, yelling and squealing and shaking
their tits at the soldier with their hands cupped up underneath the
tempting flesh piles. It was a brave and inspired thing for the girls
to do, and it distracted the man enough for his glittering spearpoint
to graze the side of Hal's hip instead of piecing his belly. Hal
hurled the stone in his left hand, aiming it at the guard's knees and
missing completely. The sentry recovered his balance, went forward on
one foot to lunge again -- and a hawk with outstretched talons came
stooping down out of the sky, apparently intent on tearing the
soldier's eyes out.

The sentry flung up one arm to protect his face, Hal grabbed the
extended spear, pushed at as if he was pinning a sheaf of hay with a
pitchfork, and the man holding the blunt end was forced to take a step
backwards onto empty air. As he fell down the end of the spear shot up
fast enough to almost break Hal's arms and to slice his nose off as
well. It wasn't so much a case of Hal letting go of the spear as
leaping away from it like a terrified animal.

"Aaaah  . . ." Splash.

"Look out, Hal, the King!"

"Huh!"

"Run, Hal, run!"

It was a never ending nightmare. Both guards disposed of, the entrance
to the castle wide open in front of them and King Argud was already on
the drawbridge, shouting with fury and waving the royal sword over his
head: a sword that few men would have been able to lift off the ground
with both hands. The girls fled into the castle, Hal ran through the
entrance after them, and the goblin . . . well the goblin had
disappeared from sight, unless you counted that timely intervening
hawk, which must be his -- its -- latest transformation. Hal wished he
had the power to turn himself into something with wings: right now
he'd happily settle for becoming blow fly. Because there was nowhere
to hide from the mad monarch -- shit!

Stretched down the right hand side of the gateway against the stone
wall was a rope under tension. The end of the rope was looped around a
wooden becket, thrice knotted to keep it secure, and hanging from a
hook on the wall next to the becket was a small hand axe. Everybody
who lived in the castle had seen the Guardsmen regularly practicing
their emergency procedure with the rope and everybody knew what
happened when it was cut. Hal grabbed the axe and took it from the
hook underneath the warning notice: 'ACCESS DENIAL! AUTHORIZED USERS
ONLY! CLEAR AREA BEFORE USING!'

No need to worry about that, there was only one thing moving in the
area, a huge demented figure only a few steps away, glaring at Hal
through blood red eyes. The boy slashed at the rope desperately, the
keen edge of the hand axe sliced through the rope strands and a
clattering noise overhead was so loud that both Hal and the King leapt
backwards as the huge iron portcullis slammed down into the row of
holes it had already worn in the granite flagstones, this new impact
sending fresh chips of stone flying from the pointed tips at the
bottom level of the grating.

Hal was done for, utterly exhausted and utterly uncaring about
whatever might happen now. He set his back against the wall and slid
down until he was sitting just beyond reach of the portcullis. He
didn't even move as King Argud came up, dropped his sword and leaned
with both of his huge hands gripping two of the portcullis bars,
puffing and gasping like a hunted bear. The boy and the man stared at
each other through the iron grid as if unsure which one was the
prisoner. Then their ears were rattled by a thunderclap and Hal looked
to his right to see streaks of red and gold flames shooting out of the
top of Gaunt Gregory's Dark Tower.

"W . . . what's happ . . .ening, . . . boy?"

"Light . . . ing. In the . . . tower. 'Tis the witch  . . . and the
warlock . . . fighting."

"Curse . . . all . . . sorcerers."

Chelinde and Caelia seemed to have disappeared somewhere, probably
hiding from all the never get well spells that were being thrown
around the castle, and Morgana's familiar had presumably flown off to
help his mistress in her battle with Gaunt Gregory. The King and Hal
kept sucking in deep breaths until they could talk freely. The noises
from the tower continued to bounce around the castle's interior like
the clash of giants' hammers. King Argud eyed Hal balefully.

"Boy, why did you hit Clint O' The East Wood and run away?"

Hal answered truthfully: "I don't know. I think I was made to do it by
the witch."

King Argud seemed puzzled: "But she swore to be your slave."

"If she is, she may do what I tell her, but I suppose she can still do
whatever I don't tell her not too."

The King's brows wrinkled in furrows as he thought this through, but
he eventually nodded: "Damn all sorcerers," he said again. "The only
way to deal with those foul scum is with lawyers. Rats fear nothing
but bigger rats."

The castle court yard echoed to a long drawn out howl of anguish which
fell out into a series of heart rending sobs, and then died away
altogether.

"One of them is down and out, for sure," the King said in somber
tones. "If it's the witch, all my plans to become Emperor of Tiberious
are rendered naught. And if it's Gregory, mayhap my life and kingdom
are gone too -- unless you can still control Morgana, my Duke
Merlinus. By Rhiannon, look at these idiots coming along half a day
late!"

The King's guards had finally emerged from the mad lust of the dragon
sweat laced steam they'd inhaled. Now they were arriving in a kind of
bowlegged half rush, some still clutching their sore cods and
gallions, others holding up their torn breeches, looking like nothing
more than a gang of sheep shearers who had just fornicated away a
season's wages in a single bout of debauchery.

The mob of guards stopped moving instantly when the King bellowed at
them to stay at the other end of the drawbridge. The odd thing was the
way all the soldiers seemed to avoid looking at each other, as if they
were all deeply ashamed of themselves.

"Well, boy, if you were bewitched, you were not the only one that the
bitch witch drove mad. Those knaves were sent cuntstruck by her spells
-- when the girls ran away my fighting men were so desperate to tup
they were fucking each other up the arse, turn and turn about, like a
pack of mummers and actors. Who could have believed that any witch
could have cast a spell like that over my own bodyguards?"

Hal blinked and swallowed. Surely the old monster must have realized
that it was the steam that Josephine had brewed up which had sent his
men cock mad? Hadn't any one of these fools realized that he and
Josephine were the ones responsible for all the mad lusting? Had
nobody else ever even heard about the irresistible cock stiffening
elixir which seeped from underneath a dragon's wings? Well, if nobody
had yet realized the truth he had best speak of other matters.

"Your Majesty -- you said you had plans for me. Believe me, I am your
loyal subject. What is it you wish of me?"

The King nodded and himself sat down on the other side of the
portcullis, settling his own back against the gateway wall: "'Tis
simple enough, boy. I would be Emperor, but I rule nothing more than a
small mountain kingdom. To defeat the Imperial legions I need a pack
of dragons like the one you found. But how can I breed dragons when I
have only a female? No one knows if there be any other dragons left in
the world, and if there are, where they might be. But perhaps your
female can find a mate for herself when no one else can. And since she
answers only your commands, I have decided to send both of you out
into the world to seek out a mate for your pet."

"But . . . but the witch, Morgana le Faye? What of her?"

"Boy, I can proclaim you a Duke easily enough, but 'tis not so easy to
make a royal ambassador out of a shit smelling whelp without even the
learning to sign his own name. So, the witch was meant to go with you,
as protector and guide, aye, and teacher too. She has been promised
that if she finds me my dragons and makes me the Emperor I will give
her half of the Empire as a reward. And so might all have turned out
had you not played the fool in your dragon's riding net with the
Master-At-Arm's daughters."

It was on the tip of Hal's tongue to reply that had anybody told him
what was being planned then nothing would have gone astray anyway. He
even thought of asking what reward the King intended for Duke Merlinus
should he return to Giant's Pass with a litter of dragonets. But
caution bade him say naught of such things. For if Morgana had been
defeated in the Tower, then Duke Merlinus would probably become Hal
O'The Shitbuckets again right quickly and revert to his privy emptying
chores.

At the very thought of that tears began stinging his eyes -- and,
strangely -- not only for his own fate but for Morgana's as well.
Cruel, haughty, frightening . . . yes, she was all of those things but
she'd also been a kind of female he'd never imagined possible until
he'd seen her pride and her strength, both of mind and body --
especially body. Whether from Asgard or Hell, the witch had been
something absolutely apart from all normal life: she had given him a
glimpse of a world even vaster and more exciting than anything he'd
ever seen aloft with Josephine. If Gregory had killed or imprisoned
Morgana that world and her womanhood had gone from his ken forever.
All that remained was to be left in the service of this evil King who
had gained his crown by treachery and butchery

"Well, my young Duke, you'd best go and spy out the land. See what's
befallen in Gregory's tower, find out who's vanquished, and who's
victorious."

Hal gaped at the King in shock: for as long as his memory had recall
no one save Gregory himself had ever gone into the Forbidden Tower. No
one else, not even the King, had ever dared to invade the warlock's
sanctuary.

"Go into the Forbidden Tower, your Majesty?" he quavered.

Ancient rumors insisted that the Icelanders themselves could provide
no worse punishments than a angry wizard -- and if there was one
certain fact in this world gone mad, it was that by now Gaunt Gregory
was either dead or very, very angry.  Though the stories also said
that magicians were never killed in battle, not even by better
magicians: the worse fate that could befall them was imprisonment in
some kind of sorcerery sealed trap, there to howl out their anguish
until the evil day when some foolish mortal unwittingly loosed them
into the world again.

The King growled angrily: "Of course, into the tower, boy. Mayhap
witch and warlock have both destroyed each other like two spurred
fighting cocks. Go and see what's happened. Then bring some of the
servants out of their hiding holes and raise this portcullis again. Be
of good cheer, young Duke, my anger is past and I will not harm you."

Hal believed the King as much as he would have believed a cuckoo
singing on mid-winter's eve. Yet it mattered little, because if he
went into that tower without leave there would probably be little
enough left him afterwards for the King to do aught with. But if he
didn't do as he was told then it was surely the spike in the market
place for him. A thought to make anybody's arse muscles tighten as
hard as walnut shells. Mayhap he should never have wished to be
anything else than a jakes emptier: why, in a year or so he could have
been promoted to being the night shift shite porter.

"Yes, your Majesty, I'll go and look."

Hal glanced up at arrow slits in the corner tower and at the wisps of
foul black smoke drifting out of them. Then he hauled himself back on
his weary legs and trudged across the courtyard towards Gregory's
sanctuary. There were glimpses of white faces fearfully peering around
corners and from almost closed doors, but Hal ignored them. He'd
almost forgotten that he was naked, and cared nothing about it. After
the sort of day he'd already endured having to walk through the castle
bailey in his nakedness was a trifle -- and then there was a
comforting rustle of leathery wings from overhead as Josephine dropped
into the courtyard like a falling leaf, raising one wing and then
another as she skidded back and forth between the high walls before
landing with a clatter of claws against cobblestones. It was as neatly
done as a swallow swooping up to a nest underneath the eaves. Hal ran
towards the dragon to put his arms around her neck: first, last and
always, she was his only friend. And the vivid flashes of color which
ran around Josephine's body showed that his affection was returned in
full measure.

Moreover, in his pleasure at being reunited with his pet, Hal suddenly
realized that he didn't have to go into that accursed tower now.
Mayhap the magicians were too injured or weak from fighting each other
to interfere if he and Josephine should make an escape. He tried to
work out his plans as quickly as he could. Perhaps the dragon could
fly again out of this narrow place, perhaps not, and probably not if
hampered with his weight. But that mattered for nothing because both
of them could run up the stairs which led to the battlements. And if
the Josephine's spikes stopped him from riding on her back, he could
at least cling to her neck while she launched herself from the walls,
overflew the moat and landed him on the other side. Then, into the
forest, and he would run as never before with Josephine circling the
treetops above him -- and it would be a brave soldier indeed who
risked her fireballs to come in pursuit

Yes, it would work, but if it were to be done, it were best to be done
quickly, with the King's entrance still barred by the portcullis and
the sorcerers still locked in mortal combat.

"My lady, come, follow -- "

There was a sound like a whip a league long cracking its tip: white
lights swirled in a circle at the base of the Forbidden tower,
spreading outwards. And where they spun the massive foundation stones
turned to dust, trickling down as if spilled from some giant
hourglass. Then the lights vanished in the flicker of an eyelash, the
castle was deathly quiet again and Morgana was stepping out through
the hole which had appeared in the bottom of the Forbidden Tower.

Morgana, the winner of the duel, that was obvious, triumph in every
line of her bearing and appearance. Her hair was neatly combed, every
speck of dirt had gone from her face, and her body was tightly wrapped
in a white robe which somehow went around her stunning form in several
different directions but still managed to leave Morgana completely
bare from her toes to the tops of her shapely legs. A gasp echoed
around the courtyard from the onlookers: both sexes were shocked, the
women were scandalized, and every watching male knew instantly why
even a shriveled up old man like Gregory had been unable to
concentrate on his spells with a sight like that to distract him.

The only watcher who didn't care less about the alluring display was
Josephine: vivid primary colors flared across her throat pouches,
clear signs of renewed anger to anybody who could read her body
language. Hal had never realized before how long resentment could
linger in a dragon's breast when somebody really provoked it.
Josephine was ready to roast Morgana at the drop of a claw.

"Nay, my lady, nay, no disputation now, I beg. Give me time to think
and all will be for the best, I promise."

The colors faded, though not as quickly as they had appeared. Still,
Josephine seemed willing to be restrained by Hal yet awhile. As for
Morgana, she walked directly towards him holding a piece of cloth in
front of her, a shimmering piece of black cloth decorated with stars,
suns and all kinds of magical talismans. Hal's heart leapt in his
mouth as he saw that it was Gaunt Gregory's own gown of sorcery.
Something the warlock would have parted with as willingly as a wild
sow would have moved aside to let a fox eat her litter.

Incredibly, the witch bowed like a courtier before kneeling down on
one knee in front of the boy. Her hands proffered up the gown to him,
as though she was a squire yielding a fallen knight's shield to a
newly triumphant champion. But not yet held so high up that it
obscured his view of her magnificent tits fighting each other for
breathing space at the top of the tightly knotted robe.

"Master, I have rendered that miserable warlock as helpless as an
infant. If we but find time to complete the chains on his sorcery as
they should be done, he will be bound for years beyond counting."

"Good . . . ah, yes . . . good." Hal tried to think which of the
questions beyond counting in his own head he should ask first. "But if
Gregory is defeated, why are you still calling me master? Surely that
promise you made no longer matters?"

She lifted her head to look up at him, the flush of recent exertion on
her cheeks matching her scarlet hair. "Nay, master, I gave my word and
sealed it by an oath which would rob me of all my powers if ever if I
should break it. The only way I can return to the freedom I had is if
you release me from that bargain. But the Great Ones must know that
you do so through no compulsion of mine, or . . . or I am thrown
forever into the Abyss."

"Oh." Hal felt stunned and picked his words with care: "Then I order
you to never again use your spells again to make me do something I
didn't want to."

"I understand your order, master. But I have never yet made you do
something against your own nature."

Hal scratched the back of his head: "That can't be right. In the barn
. . ."

An angry voice swept through the gate like a mating bull's bellow,
reverberating back and forth from the castle walls: "Come here, boy,
and wind this portcullis up!" The King was clearly impatient with
having to tarry outside his own castle like a wandering tinker.

"Witch -- Morgana," Hal spoke quickly. "I must let the King in.
T'would offend him to see you kneeling for one of his subjects but not
to him. Behave towards me for now as no more than a . . . "

Hal wasn't sure of what he was trying to say because he wasn't sure
how he wanted Morgana to treat him. The brief moments of power he'd
already had over her had whetted his appetite for more of the same.
But there was only one real master in this castle and that was the
King.

"You mean, perhaps, I should behave as a dutiful and obedient maid
servant who quickly kneels for her master when he feels the need for
her mouth?" She looked directly at Hal's nakedness and ran the tip of
her tongue around her pouting lips, eyes alight with mischief behind
fluttering eyelashes. It was sight enough to make any man's -- or
boy's -- toes curl.

Another bellow from the King overrode any answer Hal could have made,
even if he'd had the wit to think of one, which he hadn't. Nor did he
need to, for the effect of her words was already plain to her and
would soon be clear to all the watchers unless he could somehow
prevent his uncovered flesh hardening further. He quickly turned to
walk towards the portcullis and away from Morgana's temptations. But
her urgently spoken words found his ears:

"Master, I ask you, pause and consider. Why should you obey that fat
fool? Let him stay out there until his boots turn green."

"But he's the King!"

Morgana sneered: "Only since he killed the last bandit chief who
glorified this pile of stones and a few miserable villages with the
title of a kingdom. And now he's on the outside with his guards and
you're inside his castle -- inside his moat and his castle walls with
a witch and a dragon at your command. Why be a Duke when you can be a
Prince? Or perhaps something even better?"

Hal gaped at her, then around the bailey yard as if the castle was a
vision newly sprung out of the ground: the ancient walls, the decaying
towers, the faces of the servants cautiously peering out of doorways
and through arrow slits, gaping at this bare arsed boy who dared to
keep King Argud waiting.

"A Prince, you say? Or something even better than a Prince?"

Hal wondered how it was possible for him to be asleep long enough to
be dreaming such a long drawn out fantasy. And would he be able to
remember it all when he was awake and emptying the jakes again? He
hoped so, because he'd need all the laughs he could get by then. When
he looked down at Morgana again he was so distraught that this time
the valley between her breasts might as well have been a rat hole for
all the interest he could spare for it.

"Master, I found yonder warlock casting a horoscope. There are
powerful matters afoot here, matters which have roots far beyond the
mortal world. The runes Gregory were casting showed the name the King
gave to you, my Master. I think that the warlock told him to select
the title of Duke Merlinus instead of Merdinus because he foresaw into
the future to divine your fortune and to advise the King as to your
chances of success in finding another dragon. But what should have
been a small ray of candlelight sent out into the darkness has lit
some great beacon which will blaze like a flaming comet in the years
to come. With the wizard imprisoned I threw the stones again, but with
far greater skill than Gregory was ever capable of doing. I have
discarded the dross and kept the gold, or so I perceive. Now I would
test it with this robe."

Hal held his hands apart and shrugged his shoulders: "I understand
nothing of what you say."

Morgana's eyes flashed: "Then let me show you!"

Her hands flew up and so did the robe, spreading itself out and then
hanging in the air above Hal's head as though pegged to an invisible
washing line.

"Open this portcullis or I'll split . . ."

The roar of outraged royalty died in the King's throat as Gregory's
robe stayed where it was, like a hovering eagle, with its edges
fluttering gently in the breeze. Hal stared up at it, jaw dropped and
eyes popping, listening to Morgana's urgent words.

"Master, that garment is a symbol of powerful magic, handed down from
wizard to wizard as each is proved worthy of the sorcerer's craft. If
any ordinary mortal dared to touch it, let alone wear it, the result
would be an agony worse than boiling lead. But the signs in that
sorcerer's horoscope show that you are one of the chosen, one of those
permitted to learn from the Great Ones. If I have read the truth
aright, raise your arms above your head and we will see if the robe
will settle on your body without causing harm."

Hal stood motionless, struck anew with fear. Not enough to have a King
berserk with anger at him, not enough to be made unwilling master of
the most evil witch between mountains and far distant seas, now he was
being invited to meddle with sorcery, well known as the most dangerous
thing anyone could do. Only the cleverest, bravest and most cunning of
mortals dared to bring down occult curses on their heads, and only
they would run such risks for great power and wealth. Hal had no such
ambitions: well, he had, but all he really cared about was not having
to empty shitepots anymore and to be free to fly in the sky with
Josephine. No, he wanted no part of any wizardry, and he especially
wanted no part of anything that had belonged to Gaunt Gregory, not for
any temptation.

His gaze flickered from side to side, again seeking escape. A row of
figures had appeared on the ramparts of the Great Tower, the tower
where Argud and his most powerful subjects lived, the high and mighty
nobles who knew and cared no more of Hal than they did of any other
peasant. And with them were their snobbish wives who'd made his life a
misery, and also, of course, the well born sons who'd so often pushed
his head down one of the shit pots whenever they'd felt like it.

But Hal's attention was not on them but on the lace capped high bred
girls, the daughters of all those privileged families who'd treated
him as an animal -- no, even less than an animal, as something dirtier
and stupider than a dog or a hog. Unlike Caelia and Chelinde those
sneering chits up there had never deigned to speak a fair word to him,
had never even looked in his direction except by accident and then
immediately turning their faces away from his filthy rags with obvious
disgust. But now they were looking, by Gwal, and only the father of
the Gods himself could know what they must be thinking as they tried
to understand the incredible scene below. A beautiful and barely
dressed woman with supernatural powers kneeling before a naked urchin
of a shithouse cleaner, offering up to him the very robe of the
greatest wizard within a month's ride. Where, they must be wondering,
was Gaunt Gregory? And how dare this boy and woman leave the King
himself ignored and unheeded at his own castle gates?

Hal suddenly knew the iron truth buried beneath the softness of his
skin: he would fry in that robe before he'd turn coward in the sight
to those fucking nobles and their bastard bred families! His arms went
up and he stared the witch straight in the eyes, something he'd never
before dared to do.

"Give me the robe."

"You are ready, Master?"

"Aye, ready."

The magicians robe swirled down to engulf him, around his arms, down
over his shoulders, unrolling down the length of his body and beyond:
Hal cursed at his own stupidity, for the robe was piling up around his
ankles because he was so much shorter than Gregory, so all he'd done
was to make a scarecrow of himself in front of all the watchers. And
then he felt the first touch of the forces held within the robe -- a
blue radiance surrounded him, like an instantly rising marsh mist, the
smell of lava pits was in his nostrils and he waited for his flesh to
be seared off his bones. Yet instead of hot coals on his skin he felt
something almost as frightening, a sensation as though every ant in
the forest had suddenly crowded together on his body to cover him in
tiny claws -- and then that sensation also vanished as the blue halo
around him faded like a doused candle. He seemed to be unharmed by
what had happened, unharmed and unchanged. Not so the robe though, for
somehow it had changed its length to fit him perfectly, the hem of the
garment raised to a comfortable level halfway up his thighs. Yet
strangest of all was the touch of it on him, light and warm, as smooth
and pleasant as the strokes of a girl's loving hands.

"By Gwal and Clud!" He raised his stupefied face toward Morgana's.
"You did that?"

Morgana seemed almost as surprised as Hal himself. "No, not I. The
robe it was which yielded and molded itself to your desires. There is
much mystery here and I see now that the Great Ones have bound our
destinies for some purpose. I have no choice but to accept you as an
acolyte in the mystic arts and help you become an Adept, if so the
Great Ones decree your fate."

"An acolyte?"

There was a roar of outrage as the King recovered from the shock of
seeing Hal wearing Gregory's robe. The castle's ruler clenched the
bars of the portcullis as if he could shake the tons of iron grating
loose from the gateway. Morgana raised a hand and flicked it in his
direction as casually as if shaking drops of water from her fingers.
Sparks flew up and along the bars the King was clutching, the bars
glowed red hot and cooled again as quickly as cinders dropped in a
puddle, King Argud screamed like a ravished woman and reeled
backwards, holding up blackened stumps at the ends of his arms.
Morgana didn't even glance in the direction of the ruined monarch's
agony and Hal knew yet again the stomach curdling fear of their first
meeting. This female who could so rouse his youthful blood was more
dangerous than a pack of winter starved wolves. She continued speaking
as if nothing at all had happened.

"An acolyte, a novitiate in the magical arts. It means that you would
become my apprentice in all matters of spells and sorcery. And in all
such matters my duties as teacher of the mysteries would overreach my
promise to obey you. No novice performs magic or casts spells without
permission of the instructing Adept. Do you understand and accept
those conditions?"

The boy felt like screaming as loudly as Argud was doing. All he
wanted to do was to get out of this castle, to fly away with
Josephine, away from rulers and torturers and soldiers and mad
magicians, and especially away from this beautifully beguiling witch
and her bloodlust. But his chance hadn't come and now she wanted him
to bind his cringing soul to the black arts, to be sacrificed to dark
forces no sane soul would ever willingly interfere with. Yet, as ever,
what choice did he have but to yield to circumstances? Choice! Ever
since Morgana had appeared alongside his riding net on her broomstick
he'd had no more choice in where he was going than a fallen leaf blown
along by a gale.

But even in his fear a shining thought had suddenly risen in his mind
like a gleaming salmon seen through dark waters. For one thing at
least he knew, and that was that anybody having any association at all
with sorcery was regarded with awesome respect by all non-magicians.
No, whilst Hal was wearing this robe nobody would dare to scorn him as
they had scorned Hal the dung carrier. Certainly nobody who had just
seen what the magic arts had done to King Argud.

"I understand and accept all the conditions for being an your acolyte
and will obey any command you give me as my teacher," he said firmly.

"Then I name you as the novitiate Merlinus . . ." Her voice broke off
as the bird shaped familiar above them screeched and stooped down low
over her head. Then Morgana nodded, as if understanding.

"So, it's no accident that Ymir has shape changed to a hawk's form,
nor that it is a Merlin's. The Great Ones send me a message that I
must do as they command, and that you shall not be called Merlinus but
Merlin. So be it, I name you my apprentice in the deepest mysteries,
to be known to all in the realms of sorcery as the wizard Merlin, the
beholden and nominated of Morgana le Fay."

Merlin! Of all the stupid names! A wizard named after a bird, and not
even a very big one; Morgana might as well have called him sparrow or
starling. She tapped him on both shoulders with her long fingers.
Again he felt the same hidden rush of power as when he seized hold of
the broomstick. Only this time it seemed to be coming out from within
his own body, out and into the witch, and he swayed on his feet, eyes
closed. Already bone tired, he now felt as weary as a ford foundered
horse being pulled into deeper water by an irresistible current.

"Yes, I understand your weariness, Master. There is much to do but
first you must rest."

Morgana beckoned impatiently with her fingers: "You two, come hither."

Hal forced his fluttering eyes open long enough to see the
Master-At-Arm's daughters approaching, their faces glancing
apprehensively at Morgana. No, that wasn't right, he reminded himself,
they were now the Master-At-Arm's orphans. If it had been a difficult
day for him it had been a lot worse for others -- the Master-At-Arms
for one, and for Gaunt Gregory, and certainly for the King himself. In
fact a very, very bad day for King Argud the Defiler, now likely to be
known as Ex-King Argud the Defingered. No wonder the tower ramparts
were lined with white faces knights, shocked to the core as their
privileged world seemed ready to collapse around their ears. For if a
powerful King could be deposed and disposed of so easily, what was
their fate to be?

Admittedly, nobody had really enjoyed being a subject in Argud's
realm, not even his nobles, but at least he'd been a ruler who'd never
left no doubt at all about who was giving the orders. Now all was
confusion and doubt, and the inheritor of power seemed to be the red
haired sorceress brazenly showing off her half naked body. She had
driven both ruler and wizard from their throne and tower as easily as
a dairymaid taking a stick to a pair of laggard cows, and yet she
herself was to be seen kneeling in homage before a castle shit house
cleaner, a scrawny little rat daring to wear a wizard's robe as if he
had a right to such a thing.

Oh yes, the world was mad and Loki the ice warriors' trickster god
loose in it, but this was play acting no watcher felt eager to take
any part in, for it was being performed on a perilous stage. Strong
hands were grasping sword hilts in instinct, but not even the vainest
or bravest liege lord felt any urge to step forward and claim power by
right of title and muscle. A single glance downwards at Argud
staggering away with long brown stains down the back of his breeks was
enough to convince even the highest born to stay hidden in the
audience until the world became sane again, and women and boys were
safe once more for the aristocratic pleasures of fucking and kicking.
What you did to which depended on your choice of pleasure, of course.

Morgana beckoned her finger at Chelinde and Caelia: "Your master is
tired. Carry him to the royal bedchamber: you know where it is?"

Heads nodded: "Yes, mistress," Caelia said doubtfully.

She knew very well where the royal bedchamber was, having lived in
nightly dread of being sent there for the King's pleasure ever since
she'd flowered into maidenhood. What made her hesitate now in obeying
Morgana's orders was in wondering what the witch meant by 'carry'. She
and Chelinde could both see how tired Hal seemed, but even as thin as
he was, carrying the boy across the courtyard and up the narrow
spiraling staircase of the inner keep was a task beyond their joint
strength.

"Take hold of him, you wenches. You'll find him no burden."

Chelinde reached out gingerly to take Hal's hand and gave a shriek of
fright as he slid towards her: it was a cry that Hal would have echoed
save for his tiredness, for he was as astounded as the girls. He
seemed to be sliding over the cobblestones as if he was on one of the
ice slides the castle boys fashioned in the depths of winter. And when
he looked down he could see why, for the soles of his feet were no
longer touching the stones but floating a little above them. Only an
inch mayhap, but that inch was enough to make him as helpless in
walking as a newly born foal: he could stay upright only by putting
his arms around the girls' shoulders and letting them walk him towards
the tower as if he was helplessly drunk. And if he wasn't drunk, he
was certainly helpless: a glance over his shoulder showed Morgana
walking behind with a smile on her face -- perhaps a sardonic sneer at
yet another demonstration of her incredible powers was a more accurate
description.

"Have no fears, Master, your feet will touch the ground again. After
you have slept."

"After I've slept? Why only then?"

"Because without the burden of weight on your body you will rest
better than on any feather filled mattress. And the girls will serve
as your maids-in-waiting, for whatever help you may need."

His newly appointed servants of the bedchamber suddenly suffered an
immediate and intimately shared attack of giggles. Hal didn't have the
slightest doubt that both of them were thinking of various experiments
they could carry out on a weightless male body entrusted to their
lustful care. Well, they could forget any such ideas for the time
being, he was too tired for any tupping.

At least that was what he thought then, especially with his mind
distracted by Caelia's and Chelinde's inept attempts to maneuver him
around the corners of the tower's narrow corridors. It wasn't their
fault, it was simply the discovery that even though Hal was suspended
above the floor, he wasn't weightless after all, and if pushed too
quickly in one direction it needed just as much effort to stop his
body as it did to start moving it. Neither could the boy complain
about their female inability to understand cause and effect, for he
did something far more stupid than either of them when he slipped from
their grasp and went sliding towards the wall again. He put up his
arms and fended himself as hard as he could. Which sent him flying
clear of them as if running ahead, but slowly spinning like a top and
heading down the corridor at an angle which meant an even more violent
impact about ten paces further on -- if paces entered into the
calculation for somebody whose feet weren't touching the floor.

The girls gave little screams, Morgana was further back down the
corridor and out of sight in the gloom, leaving Hal with his arms
stretched out and flapping like a fledgling getting ready to leave the
nest as he fought not to lose his balance. He was lucky enough to get
one hand on the wall before he hit it and then fended himself off with
another violent effort, his mind still not able to work out the
obvious result in advance. If he'd been brought up working on boats
he'd have understood the ways of dealing with floating bodies, but he
hadn't been, and didn't. But at least the course he'd sent himself
skimming along put him clear of the corridor and out into the Great
Hall.

The Great Hall, where setting sunlight was streaming in through arrow
slits onto the flagstoned floor, the benches and tables hurriedly
drawn aside to make room for the aristocratic families scurrying into
the Hall to bow and kneel to Morgana and whosoever she favored, be it
even shitpot boys and a pair of chits.

Grizzled warriors wearing hastily donned best jerkins and polished
chain mail were coming together in groups, still panting wives were
fluttering fingers around the curls of their hair, sullen sons were
scowling darkly at having to play attendance on some accursed witch
and even more darkly frowning daughters warned of the sudden need to
curtsey to a boy who, yesterday, they wouldn't have deigned to pour
the contents of their chamber pots over if he was on fire.

All the arrivals still gathering, still assembling in order of rank,
still babbling to each other about the incredible scenes they'd just
witnessed. And, at the far end of the Great Hall, a sudden yelp of
fear and the sight of a boy dressed in a wizard's robe popping out of
the corridor entrance as if fired from a slingshot, legs motionless,
arms waving madly and skimming over the rush mats towards the crowd
like a wooden ball hurled at a stand of skittles.

Nobody did anything, except stop talking though leaving their mouths
agape. Even the quickest witted were left bemused by such a sight, and
anyway, to avoid the onrushing figure would have needed reactions fast
enough to dodge a lightning strike. Only Hal himself was able to
manage the briefest of thoughts and that was about the identity of the
figure looming up ahead as his inevitable area of collision. Because
the Gods themselves must be laughing at what they were seeing: a spell
bound boy flying as straight as an arrow towards the double target of
the biggest pair of bosoms in Great Pass Castle.

The family group was standing directly ahead of him, as motionless in
their surprise as statutes: on the left, the hulking figure of Baron
Gorlas, known behind his back as 'Gormless' Gorlas: low forehead,
flattened nose, eyes like pissholes in the snow, so stupid that even
his hounds got bored talking to him, built on the same lines as a
mountain bear and looking like one which had just been woken up from a
winter's sleep.

On the right, Orla, Gorlas's wife, the sort of woman that only a bear
could fancy.

And in the middle, their surprisingly handsome daughter, Mary, aged
sixteen and universally known throughout the kingdom as 'Dairy' Mary.
For there was no other maiden in Giant's Pass who proudly carried so
much before her, nor took greater pains in the arts of displaying her
finest parts. Mary's notion of a disaster would have been to walk past
a man or boy and not receive a second glance. But since she virtually
always did get a second glance, and then several more long and
lingering ones besides, she was usually content, especially when she
could quietly torment the watcher with the sure knowledge that he was
never going to see anymore of her breasts than he had done already. It
was a game she'd even played on Hal a time or two, as far down on the
pecking order as he was. And now those two magnificent mounds of milky
richness were between him and Mary with nothing to shelter them from
the impending impact but a low cut dress already straining at the
seams.

 From Mary's point of view, of course, it was a case of having a boy
throwing himself at her, which was certainly not a new experience, but
it was the first time one had approached her like a swan crash landing
on a frozen lake. As for the fact that it was a privy cleaner wearing
a magician's robe, she had no time at all to consider that as Hal's
chest thumped up hard against her own, bringing a look to her face
that caused a self satisfied smirk on Hal's own features whenever he
recalled that happy event.

In his long life he was destined to see many marvelous things, many
awe inspiring sights, but never any vision more breathtaking than the
way he clung to Mary's bare elbows and looked down at her magnificent
udders twitching and trembling with aftershocks like a pair of giant
salmon preparing to leap up a waterfall. Considering the situation
afterwards, it was always a wonder to Hal how he managed to spare
enough attention to realize the danger that was approaching. Or,
rather, the danger that he and Mary were approaching. In fact it was
the sudden heat on his calves which made him take stock of his
situation.

He'd assumed that holding onto this substantial piece of maidenhood
would have been a firm an anchor as a body could need, but apparently
not his body, for it was still gliding along. It took a second or so
for his bemused mind to understand that whatever magic it was in him
that made him float, it was now being shared by Mary, and the pair of
them were drifting because her own feet were also clear of the floor.
True, the thump against her tits had hurt her a lot more than it had
hurt him, and had also slowed his previous mad rush through the air to
a gentle walking pace, which was all good news: the bad news was that
he still couldn't stop moving and the impact with Mary had swung him
around so his back was to the way they were travelling: the really bad
news was that the massive fireplace in the Great Hall had already been
lit against the night's chill, a fireplace as high as a tall man's
head and wide enough to roast three boars at once, nose to tail. And
the really really bad news was that in about two seconds he and Mary
were going to be in the flames themselves.

There was no time to think, only to act, and Hal never really
understood why he did what he did -- if it was a guess, it was an
inspired one, if it was simple lechery in the face of danger, well,
that was to be applauded too. What he did was to let go of Mary's
elbows and immediately her heels thumped down onto the flagstones. She
yelped, and then prolonged the noise on a higher note as Hal jammed
his fingers down the top of her dress and pulled on it as hard as he
could to keep from touching her skin again. She stayed set solid on
the floor, the front panel of her dress came apart on the left and
right side in a popping of stitches, and Hal came to a dead stop. The
bottom of the torn out section of dress was still holding together at
Mary's waist and hanging down in front of him, topped off with nipples
like horse chestnuts, was a exposed pair of tits big enough for a
squirrel to bed down between.

"Grrrr," Hal groaned in ecstasy and clamped a hand over each of Mary's
huge teats, totally unable to resist the chance of a lifetime. At last
he could die happy. And with Baron Gorlas putting hand to his sword,
dying was surely the next thing on his agenda. But other things were
happening as well.

For one, Morgana le Fay, the deadliest, most evil, most wicked witch
in the world, was having a fit -- of laughter. She was doubled up,
slapping her hands against her thighs as if doing some kind of folk
dance, her eyes almost closed and mouth wide open as she fought for
enough breath to laugh and keep alive as well. And, again, in years to
come, that was a sight which the Wizard Merlin would remember with
affection. Whatever his later troubles with Morgana, he would always
recall that once at least he'd seen her helpless with mirth. Even
though nobody else would ever believe it when he told them, especially
not the that po-faced, pain-in-the-arse, born-again christian, King
Arthur.

Another thing that was happening in the Great Hall was that Chelinde
and Caelia were rushing past the red faced Baron and his whey featured
wife. But neither of the girls was laughing because they could see
Gorlas's grip on his sword and how several finger width's of steel had
already been drawn from the scabbard. The only two things which were
keeping the good Baron from drawing his weapon and splitting Hal
asunder were his wife's restraining hand on his brawny arm -- that and
the black robe the boy was wearing. The Baron didn't want to risk the
sort of magic that had been used on the King, not even to stop his
precious daughter from having her breasts handled in public.

Neither did Mary: she lifted up her own hands once to push Hal away,
but the sight of the black cuffs around the boy's wrists deterred her
from touching his tightly clenched hands. And then she was squealing
and helplessly trying to regain a footing on the floor as Hal spun her
around, making sure he kept at least one hand on her bare flesh at all
times to hold her up in the air with him. He was grinning with joy at
this chance to get his revenge on all these upper class bastards who'd
humiliated him so long and so often. And there they all were, all
along the length of the hall, gaping at the sight of Dairy Mary
swaying in front of them, Hal behind her, holding each of her elbows
again and the Master-At-Arm's daughters running to serve him.

"Grab her girdle ends, girls," he ordered. "And then tow us away."

Chelinde and Caelia saw what he wanted. Mary had a girdle around her
waist, a gold colored cord with two loose ends, each longer than one
of Hal's arms. The sisters each caught hold of one of the girdle
tassels and began pulling Hal and Mary away, towards the far end of
the Great Hall. And as they moved, Hal chuckled, took one hand away
from Mary's elbow and seized hold of a nipple again, with all of the
nobles able to see what he was doing. Then he did the same thing with
his other hand and gloated at the stricken looks on the watchers'
faces, and especially the ones on the faces of all the young esquires.
The privileged striplings may have used his hair as a shit house
cleaning brush before today, but now he was the one with his hands on
Dairy Mary's luscious measures, and he was the one who was going to
make her shake them around for him in frantic excitement, even if he
had to give her a double dose of dragon sweat to get her in the right
mood.

What Hal wasn't expecting was to suddenly begin bouncing up in the
air, Mary with him, as though they were shuttlecocks being hit with
rackets. He looked down and saw they'd reached the steps of the tower
stairway: as he almost touched each tread with the back of his heels,
he and Mary were shooting up to the next step, bobbing along behind
the girls towing them up the spiral staircase.

Before he was pulled out of sight of the Great Hall Hal put his hands
underneath Mary's tits and waved them at Baron Gorlass and his wife.
It took a little careful timing to get his hands on the upswing at the
same time as Mary and he were jerked up another step, but the result
was well worth the effort; by about the fifth step her pair of
abundantly fleshed milk churns were going down halfway to her waist
and then bouncing back up almost up to her chin. Mary screeched like a
barn owl at midnight and her scarlet faced father seemed about ready
to try tearing the chain mail from his chest with his bare hands.

"Good night, my lords and ladies," Hal called out above Mary's yelps:
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I've got to rush off and take a flying
fuck."

THE END

(If you like this kind of story, especially with lots of pictures,
then visit www.f-e-mail.com sometime and browse around)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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